


Tamarind on the Mountain, Salt in the Sea (Meet in One Pot)

by BraveKate



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Awkward Crush, Book Spoilers, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Family Fluff, Fluff, Future Fic, Interns & Internships, Kid Fic, M/M, Married Couple, Not Canon Compliant, Parent-Child Relationship, Parenthood, Slice of Life, Unrequited Crush, Workplace, both the show and the book canons are smashed and molded together to my liking, no one gets hurt and it's all adorable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 19:03:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10556130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BraveKate/pseuds/BraveKate
Summary: Alec has an adorable family, a new mentee at work, and A Thing on his mind. In that exact order. Jace is there to laugh but, like, lovingly.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anatolia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anatolia/gifts).



> I wrote this a year ago, pre-last book, when my brain went all, Magnus and Alec should have a second child! And then the book literally came out the next day and ruined half of my fic. Or so I thought. I found this again last week, and it seemed a shame to put in the work just to not publish the thing. So I tinkered around a little and fixed it and here it is!
> 
> Thanks, Anatolia, for encouraging me and helping me with the name! I luuuuuuurv u <3

Alexander has A Thing on his mind which he isn’t talking about _very loudly_ in a way he believes is subtle. To Magnus, there might as well be semaphore flags involved, — or something equally eye-catching (yet undecipherable). Alec started picking toys and clothes up from the floor and sorting through them right after crossing the threshold, for sweet’s sake. And when the floor ran out, he began dusting.

“Oh ye brave and handsome husband of mine,” Magnus tries, realizing it’s in vain even as he says it. Alexander is like an avocado in some ways; he is ready when he is ready and not a second earlier. “Are you all right?”

“What?!” Alec jumps, graceful and oh so very elusive. “Why? I mean, yes!”

Smooth.

…It could, in theory, be a Raphael-deprivation-induced sulk? But the Vamp Camp’s customary ban on non-emergency calls during first week, which Lily enforces, runs out tomorrow. By this point they’re usually well out of the worrying stage and just excited to be talking to their son again so soon.

Magnus graciously leaves the issue alone — for now — after receiving a kiss on his brow. Since it’s clearly not dire and doesn’t break their Total Honesty Pact in any serious way.

They perform the usual evening rituals: assist Max through him feeding Raphael’s fishes and Mewrkel, make a group call to Aunt Izzy, have dinner, wash Max, Mewrkel, and dishes (separately). Then Alec skedaddles off to continue his mental anguish of undetermined origins over previously gathered laundry. Magnus lets him be; it’s crafting time, so he’s got his hands full anyway.

The TV’s quietly playing a nature documentary when Alec sticks his head back into the family room, face serious. Max has dozed off against Magnus’s side on the couch; Alexander sees it and adjusts his volume accordingly.

“Do you think a person could miss that I’m married? Like… is my ring too understated? Or something.”

It is, as per usual during Alec’s funks, a completely out of the blue question. Magnus just blinks and traces the magnificent lines and planes of his husband down to his left hand where the whole (a bit ridiculous) marital ensemble is. The modified wedded union rune, the wedding band, the bracelet. Both pieces of jewelry are unadorned, thick; the metal has a flat silvery finish. Magnus looks down at his own: the ring covers his finger from knuckle to knuckle and the bracelet has stones encrusted, two large gems for him and Alec, a smaller one for Raphael, and a South Sea pearl added recently, for Max. The metal sparkles, saturated with magic, when light hits it.

“I think,” he whispers back diplomatically, “that your ring suits you, and my ring suits me. Because we’re not the same person but, rather, two individuals complementing each other.” There. That should cover some basic-level angst. Right?

Wrong. Alexander’s perturbed expression doesn’t ease up. Magnus can feel his husband’s gaze boring into his very essence with its customary intensity. Eventually Alec nods; it’s an “I love you too” nod.

“Yes. But I mean, like.” His hand moves through the air as he looks at it speculatively. “Can you miss it’s there?”

Magnus feels himself frown. He glances down at Max, who is conked out with his black curls disheveled and tiny pink mouth ajar like an adorable fish. Alec gets the hint and sneaks over; together they pry the boy from the couch and into his arms. “What‘s this about?” Magnus hisses as he absentmindedly pats those curls. Alec just signs at him to wait and goes off to tuck their baby in, cheek pressed to his petite head.

As they climb the stairs, Magnus plucks his phone out of a translucent plastic crayon bucket on the coffee table. He is rarely one to waste time.

 _Gumdrop, dear,_ he types with both thumbs, _how is work?_

_what do you want magnus_

It’s a nearly instant reply. Jace The Eloquent, ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in-between.

_No, really. How is work?_

In typical Jace fashion (and in the name of parabatai loyalty and pride and whatnot) he immediately clams up.

_i won’t tell you anything_

_So there’s something to tell?_

_not today satan_

Magnus stares tiny electronic letters down and lets out a frustrated sigh. The apartment is quiet, ambient noises of TV, bubbling aquarium, and the cat galloping somewhere just underline it. As a tic, he makes the crayons switch their colors at random, until his phone unexpectedly buzzes again. It’s dearest Clary this time, and she is far more articulate than her insignificant other.

_We have newbies shadowing us. They’re harmless and amusing. I’ve got Trevor. He’s great!_

Well, that Magnus knew. But newbies are old news by now, week old at least. And they do, indeed, amuse Alec, — in an innocent, cheerful manner. No trouble in sight until today.

 _Thank you, biscuit,_ he shoots out to Clary.

_No problem. Kiss my little demon good night for me!_

He resolutely puts the phone away and goes to investigate some more.

Alexander just activated the night-light by Max’s bed: green and purple glowing butterflies flatter lazily below the ceiling (Magnus’s enchanted Spanish pun he’s pretty proud of). Magnus comes over to kiss the boy, and they shut the door soundlessly after sneaking out. He gets dragged all the way towards the master bedroom by his batik robe sleeve. There, he’s guided to sit on the bed as Alec starts pacing between the closed door and a dresser. It’s not an urgent, but rather a thoughtful kind of pacing. Good. Maybe Magnus will get some answers after all.

Only sconces are lit, and in their dim glow Alec’s face as he stops and turns looks softer, innocent with eyes huge and pretty.

“So,” he says, “do you think we could switch rings? Just for a day. For tomorrow.”

No answers, then. Oh well.

“I don’t see why not, if it’ll help you with… whatever this is,” Magnus answers, choosing the words carefully.

A visibly relieved nod. “Yeah, it will, I think. I hope? It’s just,” Alec adds with vague gesture towards his husband, “your ring is more noticeable.”

Appreciating it anew, Magnus wiggles his fingers and hums. “We could get you another, flashier one, too. If that’s what you want.”

“No!” Alec stops waving his hand and tacks it against his side like he’s afraid Magnus will chop the whole thing off. “I love my ring. It’s just for tomorrow, really.”

“Of course, relax, relax,” Magnus chuckles. “Come here now, you local crazy, you.”

Alec goes. He smells of leather, and under it — of home: sandalwood, hypoallergenic fabric softener, and Max’s cotton candy kiddie perfume on the shoulder where his head rested. He is so warm.

Magnus maybe, probably, hopes to pry something out the old fashioned way, during pillow talk, but soon loses this thought to lips and hands and Alec’s quiet focus. When that quiet transforms into repeated “by the Angel” and “please, Magnus”, his hips are already pleasantly strained and he’s unable to stop smiling. It’s the teasing one, judging by the way Alexander gets more and more arousingly irritated, his grip on the back of Magnus’s neck tightening, his scars and runes distorting with muscles tensing underneath. 

Eventually Alec loses it altogether, braces himself and just flips them, extruding a delighted laugh from his husband.

“You are a menace, I swear,” he hisses down into Magnus’s slick with sweat neck. His stubble tickles.

After, Magnus adjusts the rings to fit as he sits at the foot of their bed and observes Alec draining a water bottle in one go. They’re both back to fully dressed in case of Max-related emergencies, but the sheets already managed to re-tangle around them, so the atmosphere is still cocoon-like, intimate.

“Here,” Magnus says when he’s done. “I blocked most spells out, but in any case, try not overexposing it to anything too Nephilimic.”

Alexander looks at him in half-dark, weirdly intent. Instead of accepting the offered ring, he reaches for his own, and takes Magnus’s hand with it. He soothes a thumb across his husband’s palm and fingers, straightening them, and Magnus understands, keeps still to make slipping the ring on easier. It feels weird, so plain, so smooth, but he imagines the grip is warmer and tighter, much like Alec’s around his wrists not thirty minutes ago.

With a smile, Magnus rearranges their hands so he can return the favor. “Here,” he repeats, satisfied. “Now all we need is Isabelle’s sobbing and it’ll be just like our wedding.”

His calf is pinched as a punishment for ruining the mood.

***

“It’s just. I am a straightforward person. I don’t get all those hints, the flirting. I went from ‘stuck in the closet’ and ‘sort of in love with my stepbrother’ right to ‘married with kids’. Flirting is in some other segment of the spectrum!”

“Pft! ‘Sort of’. You were full on, head over heels in love with me. You wrote my name everywhere and drew hearts around it. And, I mean, who could blame you!”

Yes, they are at this point in their relationship. Which is wonderful and took a lot of progress, but doesn’t mean Alec’s urge to strangle Jace is non-existent.

“Yes, yes, you’re great,” he says instead of the fratricide.

Alec is behind the desk, studying quarterly statistic reports on his computer without really seeing them. Jace to his right is being “unobtrusive”, whatever that translates into in Jace-speak. Alec is pretty sure his knees surpassed his head level in the chair already, and the game he thumbs through is extremely ding!-y and boom!-y.

“And you don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Jace says, done with teasing, eyes glued to the phone. “Of course I’ll help, I know how you are. I witnessed you bludgeon through several shamelessly flirty conversations without even realizing it, some with the man you ended up procreating with.” Ah, not done. “Which, now that I think about it, is pretty weird, because you can always tell when somebody’s hitting on Magnus, even if they’re across the room facing away.”

“It’s not that weird,” Alec protests. “I have to stay on high alert! Only few, sober people do not want to jump him! I underline the sober part, because Robert got drunk once and had a really weird conversation with me about Magnus’s skin I never wish to revisit.” He shudders at the disturbing memory.

“You exaggerate. And what’s up with Magnus’s skin?”

“Well, it’s all… silky and… beautiful. You know what I’m talking about!”

Jace gives him a _look_. “I don’t, actually, but I’ll take your word for it.”

Newbies pile in just then, clearly visible through the whole space due to the open floor plan. Their quiet but fierce excitement is almost palpable. Alec can immediately make out Jace’s austere shadow, Kiara, and — he stifles a groan — his own newly acquired headache, Benjamin, among them. Benjamin carries a to-go coffee tray; he’s been doing it every day since switching out with Trevor for his place as Alec’s mentee.

“He always brings you coffee?” Jace asks, attention now likewise on the dressed to impress youths.  


The fake lightness of his brother’s voice is very unnerving. Alec feels chastised, for no real reason. “I thought it was a buddy-buddy thing?”

“Okay,” Jace nods. “Let’s see what the deal here is.”

Kiara descends upon them like a silent ray of divine fury on high heels. She’s one of those people with intense runway facial expression and very fast power walk. She’s also one of those people who look good in any lighting, including Institute’s awful fluorescence. “Mr. Lightwood-Bane,” she greets Alec firmly, “neat blazer.” Her gaze switches to Jace and his casual starfish position. At him, she spits without actually switching tones, “Jace.” It’s a talent.

Jace beams. “See? You finally remembered! Anyway,” he pats the only free part of the chair left, its arm. “Come sit, we’re on an important surveillance mission. And make yourself unobtrusive.”

Kiara rolls her eyes _without actually rolling them_ , what the hell, and squeezes between the chair and a bookcase. Her idea of “unobtrusive” is to pick a tome at random and hold it upside down in front of her so that it blocks Jace’s face from view. She stares into the room without even pretending to read.

“Good morning, Kiara,” Alec greets finally into the conversational pause, swiveling slightly in the seat, and runs a hand over his shawl lapel. “Thank you. Magnus gave it to me.” 

The pair’s intense presence presses upon him from the side, but he chooses to interpret it as silent support. And in time, too, because Benjamin finally catches up to his faster colleague and practically glides into Alec’s small separated out office zone. He is short, muscular, and has an abundance of wide toothy smiles to share. His hair is carefully styled, his clothes fitted tight. He’s a completely normal kid that acts friendly. Or so Alec thought at first.

“Good morning, Alexander,” Benjamin breathes out and deposits a coffee cup in front of him, bending well over the table while doing it. He reaches into Alec’s personal area marked by a barricade of family photos he surrounded himself with and likes to hide behind. Needless to say, it’s an unwelcome intrusion. “I’ve got your coffee.” 

He gazes into Alec’s face as he says it, all earnestness. He gazes into Alec’s face for a long time.

Alec, uncomfortable, coughs. It’s so clear to him now; he feels stupid for even involving Jace. But there’s a realization that if he didn’t, he would doubt his own observations as self-centered and feel equally stupid. It’s a typical lose-lose for him.

“Yes, hello. Thank you. As I mentioned before, please refer to me as Mr. Lightwood-Bane,” he says, voice firm. “And you don’t have to bring me anything.”

“Aw, Alexander, but I want to!” Benjamin pouts in a joking manner, completely ignoring the admonishment; then sobers up and stands straight. “Okay, boss! What’s on today’s agenda?”

“You go into the training room, start throwing something at something else and try not to miss,” Jace’s commandeering voice instructs.

Benjamin shoots a glance his way before turning to Alec in silent search of approval. Alec nods, and the trainee complies, walking away back first with a lingering look behind. After making sure he’s gone, Alec immediately rotates his chair to face Jace and Kiara.

Jace appears amused but also kind of concerned, a trace of which Alec can sense through the bond. “So I see your stint with the ring yesterday failed. That, my brother, was definitely flirting.”

“Is this what the ‘important surveillance mission’ was all about? Whether or not Ben wants to suck Mr. L. B. dry like some starved incubus?” Kiara scoffs as she slams the book shut. “You could’ve just asked me, I would’ve told you. Of course he does. Talks about it all the time, too, I’m sick of it. And when someone reminds him Mr. L. B.’s married, he says stuff like ‘husband’s not a wall, he can move aside’.”

Alec sputters at the phrasing, and Jace hisses in indignation: “Why haven’t you mentioned anything before?”

“I thought everyone knew? And ignored it because that’s what adults do or something. But you just haven’t realized…” Her face distorts in horror. “By the Angel, adulthood is a lie, isn’t it? You’re just wrinklier babies. Whatever. Mr. L. B.’s a paragon of marital virtue anyways.”

Alec feels more like a paragon of naiveté. His gaze lingers on a photo of Raphael and Max at the wedding; the former’s holding the ring box with somber concentration, his adorable nose slightly scrunched, and the latter’s smiling, curly hair neatly braided. They did so well that day through all the boring rituals. Alec is still proud when he remembers his sons’ patient behavior.

“I’m as oblivious as Max at these things,” he sighs out loud.

“I don’t know, Max’s pretty suave for his age,” Jace shrugs. He sits right, finally, and studies his parabatai’s face in contemplation. “Besides, better to be oblivious than ignore hints on purpose, like Benny here is doing — no way he missed them, he's a smart guy. A little crush is fine, but this is a workplace. Such behavior is unprofessional and potentially deadly. How would you like to proceed?”

“I would like to avoid a stern, admonishing talk if at all possible. Those can be traumatizing, and he's young, potentially impressionable.”

“In that case, I guess we’ll have to switch him and Trevor back.”

They look around. Most of young Shadowhunters attached themselves to their senior partners by this point and gotten busy, Trevor included. He and Clary are locked in what looks like a truly epic hug fest by one of the stained-glass windows. They rock from side to side and then jump and then spin. They’re like siblings separated at birth that recently found each other again. It’s a platonic match made in nonromantic heaven.

“Wait,” Alec says. “Let’s not make Clary cry just yet. We’ll give Benjamin one last hint.”

Izzy or even Simon would do nicely, but both are occupied supervising at Vamp Camp. A shame, really. Those two can invoke baby photos on unsuspecting _and_ unwilling people at all times and keep at it for hours like pros.

So, last resort. He picks up the phone and speed-dials Magnus.

***

Alec and Magnus are in total agreement: Magnus is one of the most gorgeous and elegant things to ever grace the earth. Ever. Alec suspects, though, that he doesn’t always freeze in awe of his husband’s beauty at moments the latter would deem appropriate.

He remembers the week baby Max was (what at the time seemed like) toothing and no one got any sleep, including Mewrkel, because Alec drew a line at rune-ing his own child out. By day four of every remedy proving useless against nature’s course, Magnus made Alec take Raphael and go sleep somewhere — “Anywhere, it’s not like we lack in options!” — else. Alec didn’t like it, abandoning his miserable son and exhausted partner, but Raphael needed rest, and Alec himself couldn’t skip work with the seasonal peak in illegal activity. So he obliged. It was January, and their eldest looked like an astronaut, packed into his silver parka over a thick sweater.

Around 10 a.m. on day six Magnus called and said, “Listen to this, darling,” and the blissful all-encompassing silence filled the line.

“By the Angel!” Alec remembers himself whooping as he waved Izzy over and stuck the phone her way. “It’s quiet!”

At lunch, he hurried home. First thing he saw happened to be the cat out cold in the corridor, soaking up the warmth from underfloor heating. The apartment was an aquarium of cool yellow light and glowing dust specks floating in reverent silence. Alec went to explore further. 

He found Magnus with Max in the second floor nursery. Clad in a mint green onesie and limbs akimbo, the baby lay in his crib with face so angelic it was impossible to connect with the shrieks still reverberating through Alec’s head. He didn’t dare touch him, too afraid to disturb the long-needed sleep. Magnus succumbed to it, as well: he sat at padded windowsill hugging a motley ikat robe around himself, head against glass. Raccoon-ish black on his eyelids this time had nothing to do with makeup; he already grew a full-on beard, and his hair was a spectacular mess topped by a plastic candy-shaped clip.

Naturally, Alec hovered over him like a creep for ten minutes straight, missing every other breath and undergoing an out-of body experience in the face of eternity, love, his own unbelievable level of luck in life, and the like. Before him was a man who feared strongly repeating the awfulness he witnessed fathers bestow on their children, — feared for no reason whatsoever. Magnus was always many things and wasn’t just as many, great being one of them. He’s something much better instead; he’s good, through and through, inside and out. A good man and a good father, who read a note once and, like Alec himself, took it for a challenge.

When Alec’s vision started to swim, Magnus stirred and blinked one eye open. Unable to restrain the words, Alec blurted hoarsely, “You are gorgeous, you know that?” and reached out for him.

“Obviously, I do. You, though,” Magnus batted his hand away, sluggish. “You sound sleep-deprived. How is that you’re sleep-deprived? Haven’t you been staying at Clary and Jace’s where a person can actually hear their own thoughts?”

Alec gave up trying to explain and swung Magnus’s hand over his shoulders to help the fatigued warlock stand. From up-close, there was a strong organic baby lotion fragrance. “Up you go now. Bed time.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Magnus moaned against the side of his face, “I have something to show you first.” He swayed toward the crib, taking Alec with him and ignoring the panicked protests about waking the baby. “Relax, darling, a cannon won’t stir him right now.”  


He reached inside. Max’s head was so tiny, even Magnus’s elegant hand looked gigantic next to it. He gently put a finger on the baby’s forehead and pushed it to the side, causing Alec to lose all speech and hover again.

The dark blue skin had tiny horns piercing through it, two milky-white triangles.

“You see,” Magnus murmured. “That’s why all the crying, — the Mark. Poor thing. Can you imagine?”

Alec’s vision started to blur anew just then, so he got declared “definitely not fine” and towed away. 

The point is, Alec doesn’t necessarily think Magnus’s only extra (as, of course, he’s “gorgeous all the time”) beautiful when Magnus makes an effort to impress. There are different qualities to it, in his opinion. Sometimes it involves a week old facial hair and under eye bags one selflessly acquired and is unaware of. Sometimes, it’s suiting up plus bathing in glitter. When Magnus invokes that second one, he himself feels comfortable, confident, — and that’s exactly what shows and makes an impact. 

Like right now, when he’s gliding through the Institute as if he owns the place and plans to resell it.

“Wow,” Jace comments to Alec with amusement. “I can actually _see_ you starting to regret this in real time.”

“I should’ve dealt on my own. This is childish. He was busy. Pluck a person out of their working day and scream at them to come save you from a teenager, see how they’ll like it,” Alec moans into palms covering his face, previous feeling of shame back with vengeance.

Jace pats him in encouragement. “Don’t know what you’re on about, I do it to Clary all the time.”

“Screw last chances, I should’ve talked to Benjamin and switched him away. It’s an adult thing to do, the boy would survive. I’m not eighteen anymore to be whining for Magnus at every hitch!”

“Bit late for that. Besides, the passive-aggressive posturing in this case is much more fun than honest confrontation!”

“I suck.”

“A, I certainly hope so. B, you know Magnus enjoys it. You asking for his help, I mean. And the other thing as well, one would presume.”

“Please, shut up.”

Despite all changes the Law has undergone and numerous new enforced policies, only a small time has passed yet. It’s still startling to, say, stumble into a moderated territorial debate between werewolves and nymphs in the Institute’s conference room; still strange to have an educational interspecies summer program for kids hosted by vampires. To this day Alec feels this exhilarating thrill, like he’s getting away with the best thing he shouldn’t be, every time he sees Magnus here, in their world, so carefree and certain.

He carries Max on his hip as the kid waves at everyone like all of them, not just some, are family. The glamour is off of that beautiful dark skin Alec loves so much. They mostly let the boy choose his own outfits, so for three days now he’s been rocking the same tights made of reversible mermaid sequin fabric — the sparkly chaos of candy pink and pearly mint is blinding even from afar. He also has his rain boots on, to stubborn to succumb to May heat, a top patterned with neon green hearts, and matching heart-shaped glasses with green-tinted lenses. He is wonderful, perfect; the jewel of Alec’s heart. He remembers a day before yesterday, when Max and Magnus sung during crafting time, a Marceline the Vampire Queen’s song on how everything stays, but still changes. The notes of ukulele and their voices, quieted by the distance from where he sat in their laundry room, soothed something inside him, made warmth flood his chest. Max sounded so unperturbed, pronouncing “slightly” with great care, and Magnus’s rather melancholic tone served as a perfect contrast.

His family.

Magnus reaches the surveillance station Alec and Jace are currently positioned at without fumbling around or wavering, in a straight sure line, all catwalk. He and Max both put their shades up on their heads, turning them into headbands. It’s synchronized to a T. Their fingers sport washable purple kiddie nail polish from the same kit as Max’s perfume, the one Catarina gave him recently. Still maybe five steps away, Magnus announces with a flourish: “Alexander, darling!”

“Papá-papá-papá, listen, listen,” Max interrupts chirpily as he bends for hugs and kisses before Alec is able to stand and greet them _or_ before Magnus can actually come close enough, “Are you listening? We have a surprise for you-u-u!” The last stretched out syllable conveys that he’s dying to tell him about it because he’s been keeping the secret forever, for a million years now, really.

He almost squirms out of his father’s hold, but Alec rapidly rolls over in the chair to catch him under the arms just as Magnus bends back a little to grip his legs tighter. Together they manage to keep their child in one piece; they share a glance over the Max-bridge between them, the old parental “hey, look at us not screwing up” one. Relieved, Magnus chastises:

“Patience, dear.” 

“A surprise, really?” Alec knows he acquired that sickeningly sappy smile, because Jace provides appropriate gagging noises beside him while Max nods vigorously against his neck. “What kind of surprise?”

“I can’t tell you,” his deafening whisper tickles, “that’ll ruin it.” It sounds like a galactic-level tragedy.

Jace jumps up and stomps over to pry the boy from them with one-armed gentler-than-it-looks bear hug around his middle, earnest grin in place. “Okay, give, Uncle Jace is lonely now. I missed you, little demon. Haven’t you missed me? You see those old boring dads of yours every day.” Max laughs at the familiar nickname and jerks his legs in the air while getting whirled around.

The jacket of the white (optimistic when a five-year-old’s in the picture) suit Magnus has on is rumpled. He straightens it and extends a hand to help Alec stand. Jace’s manipulations caused a frown, even though Jace has never dropped a child in his life and only nearly dropped Max the one time. No matter how Jace affects others, Magnus always has an air of befuddlement about it; more often than not Alec can read a “he isn’t _that_ great” in Magnus’s skeptical expression. Now that the two are good friends, the usual reaction to his husband’s parabatai is fixated between lightly to mildly annoyed. Deep-deep down inside himself where he prefers not to look too closely, Alec loves it. He loves it so much.

“Wonderful, gumdrop,” Magnus calls out. “Now that’s enough spinning. May I also remind that I’m explicitly forbidden by Clarissa from giving you any baby cravings?”

“Oh, she’s one to talk,” Jace grumbles, though complies and hands Max back. There’s an easy practice in the way Magnus maneuvers him without letting go of Alec’s hand. He should really put him down, but at the rate the boy’s growing carrying him won’t be an option for much longer, so Alec lets them be. He’s about to raise the mysterious surprise topic again when Kiara and Benjamin return in full gear, done with their essentially pointless shut-up-Ben-training-is-never-pointless morning training. The closer Kiara gets the more Jace freezes up. 

“She’s behind me, isn’t she? I can smell the disdain.”

“That’s the…” Alec starts to explain, but Magnus gets the gist before he can finish.

“Oh! Newbies!” His voice is bright and deeply melodic, somehow brining a picture of bubbling champagne to Alec’s mind, — the charming one he uses to greet guests. “I heard a lot about you. Well, not you individually, but you as an entity. They say you are quite amusing.” He would stop there five years ago, before fatherhood; now habit to encourage wins. “…And good Shadowhunters. Of course.”

“Of course.” Kiara doesn’t seem convinced but, small smile softening her features, reluctantly succumbs to the charms. She’s a bit overwhelmed, fumbling with the holster strap across her chest plate; Magnus is, admittedly, a lot to take in upon first meeting, but Max’s adorable factor evens it out. The boy isn’t shy around strangers; he stares at the young woman openly and announces, “She has pretty hair, like mine!”

Kiara does, indeed, have the same exact haircut Max chose before spring started: shorn at the sides, but curls wild on top.

“Yes,” Magnus turns to him, tone minutely educational, “and excellent taste in general.” Back at Kiara, he adds: “This whole vigilante thing? I like, very nice!”

“Thank you. And I dig the resort vibe. I’m also a big fan of the work you do here,” Kiara smiles wider with a hand wave towards Alec.

A somber sigh escapes Magnus after he’s done with the usual “oh, this old thing” shtick. “Well. It’s a difficult situation, indeed. But between myself, Ms. Trueblood, and Alexander’s siblings, we manage.”

“I completely understand. My brother has a similar condition. Very dire.”

“I like you! What’s your name, child?”

“Kiara Smith. It’s nice to meet you, Mister B. L.!”

“Smith, really? An exotic name around these parts.”

“And I’m Ben Beaufort. Kind of creepy being called a child by someone who looks nineteen!”

“Charmed.” Magnus gives Benjamin a smile filled with mischief. He also pretends not to notice the extended hand and just winks instead.

“Oh, yes,” Jace catches up. “A teaching moment. Children, councilman Bane-Lightwood here is a High Warlock, so! Let’s see you not screwing up a politicized interaction.”

Magnus faces his son, pulling the glasses down from his curly head to the very tip of the blue nose, and asks kindly, “And you, little blueberry? What your name might be?” He adjusts his grip and tips the boy as if on the dance floor, so the shades pop right back on their usual place over his eyes.

“I’m Max!” He announces happily, upside down. “It’s short for ‘Maximum… -ly Awesome’!”

“We let him pick his own names,” Magnus explains to newbies. “It’s a warlock thing.” Except not really; it’s neither strictly a warlock thing nor a progressive parenting thing. Max managed to catch two name-based curses by his fifth birthday already, so Magnus introduced the option to his children earlier in life than he would prefer. Max made an active participant, but Raphael refused, saying he _feels_ like a Raphael for now.

“I miss the time he went by Señor Jessabellianne,” Jace recalls with nostalgia. “Or No Broccoli. Remember No Broccoli? That was nice.”

“Shush,” Alec slaps the man’s chest with the back of his hand. “Don’t remind him!”

Too late, he heard. His hands start stretching towards his father, seeking to grapple for attention. “Remind me what? Papá, what?!” Alec quickly utilizes the highly trained diversion face he perfected on Raphael; it screams “you know what” — and proves effective yet again. Something dawns on Max and he starts squirming to come down. “The surpri-i-ise! Ayah! Let’s now!” The minute he’s carefully freed by Magnus (with a hand hovering right behind that tender back, ready to support still at times treacherous balance), the excited jumps in place come out. Accompanied by clapping, even. Wow, must be one hell of a surprise.

Happy to oblige, Magnus squares his shoulders, building suspense like a faux mundane magician on stage; there’s a mischievous seduction of mystery to his eyes, luring the spectators closer. It flows freely as Alec drinks it in, and their son forgets to breath, enthusiastic beyond what’s available for an adult. The air around seems charged. Harsh dry light changes when it hits what belongs to magic, transforms into shimmer along Magnus’s hands, sparkles around his lashes. Kiara looks perturbed.

“Now!” That booming High Warlock voice announces. “Show your face if you dare!”

Out of nothing, Raphael appears, heart-shaped face smug in a way of all tricksters everywhere. So full of life, such animated picture; the clothes he wears are always vaguely rumpled as if their owner stopped suddenly mid-run. He shares his father’s mischievous aura and elegance that shows even through symbolically tied snickers, cargo shorts, and a tie-dye t-shirt. Max’s Nightcrawler backpack with “Why so blue?” written across it is slang over his shoulder. Alec hasn’t seen Raphael for almost two weeks, and even though they’ve been talking on the phone for two days now, he missed him _so much_. He swears the boy had a growth spurt even though his head still barely reaches Alec’s chest.

“Raphael,” he breathes out, pulling him in and tightening the embrace so that Raphael’s Vamp Camp cap falls off, knocked away when the visor hits Alec. Max squeaks in delight and stars clapping louder. “Papá, are you surprised!” It’s not really a question.

“Of course I am,” he assures, reaching out to smooth his hair.

“Hi, papá.” Raphael’s wheeze is strangled somewhat by Alec squeezing him for dear life. But how can he not? The boy’s so dark already, his brown skin always gladly catching sunlight and making it stay. Alec’s afraid he’ll miss something so important every time he turns away, so important it could never be compensated or restored.

“Alas,” Magnus declares, “the first born. Dearly beloved and just as dearly missed.”

Raphael lifts his face up, sharp chin jutting Alec’s solar plexus. Raphael’s eyes are just like Isabelle’s, round and big; their whites, as well as his smile, seem blindingly bright on the tan happy face. He takes a deep breath and starts pouring out everything important that’s happened since their last conversation. “We went spelunking under the city! I did like ayah said, and Sonya totally sat with me at the bonfire after. Also, I burned my hand! And in the morning ayah came with adik and talked to Aunt Lily. She got even more pale! We drove here right away! And then Max made me invisible. I could’ve touched anything without anyone noticing, but I totally didn’t.”

“Max made” is the code for “Magnus made and Max shared some energy”. Max’s magic is bound to and by Magnus and is released in gradual steps as he learns control. It’s a bond for Magnus, as well; he’s forced to observe numerous limitations for discipline’s sake. Lessons take them to stormy beaches and serene lakes, dark forests and glowing caves. Sometimes they’re exciting, other times — dull lectures. And Alec knows he and Raphael can’t really _follow_ them, but they still come along frequently to listen and understand better. On one occasion they got enchanted flower circlets out of it, some severe sprains on another. But it’s worth watching his kid’s features brighten up in comprehension of something previously unreachable around and inside him. Max has crafted a protection charm for Alec already, ingredients clumsily stuffed into a satin baggie for him to carry around.

“You’re taking dating advice from your _father_?” Jace questions, all indignation, instead of “hello”.

Magnus half-turns his torso after the remark, eyebrows raised. His instructive gesture then proceeds to slowly encompass Alec and the kids, demonstrating his 2.5 national average results of dating success. (Because Mewrkel, no doubt, counts for half a point. It’s 2.75, really, if you include the fishes.)

“You bet he does, gumdrop. And you weren’t even the second choice, Clary was.”

Kiara’s resulting snort helps Alec to unfreeze. “What have you told Lily to make her let you do this?” He asks Magnus, tearing his eyes away from Raphael’s beaming face.

“I said it was a health-related family emergency. Which is true, because hunger leads to inattention, and in your line of work that might translate into death. You should probably text her later, though, reassure you’re alive. Anyway, do you mind letting the catering in? They all have Sight, _are_ thoroughly checked, and can be trusted; I employed them several times before.”

“Why is there catering?”

“Well, we brought you lunch, of course! I was going for something smaller, but Max wanted to feed the tías and the tíos, and what would it look like, us eating while everybody else are left to drool? Not to mention the interns need twice your calories, they’re probably digesting themselves by now.”

Said “interns” spin towards the door, very much like malnourished sunflowers after the sun, to see catering pouring in with their trolleys. Jace kicks the chair he’s back in to roll behind Benjamin. He mouths a “this is him” theatrically to Magnus while pointing and covering his face with the other hand. “You. Don’t. Say,” Magnus mouths back, eyebrows yet again high.

Attention quickly drifting away from the ridiculous dynamic, Alec goes back to Raphael who has Max plastered all over him. The older boy tries to put his previously dropped cap on his brother’s head as he, in turn, tries to avoid it, — without detaching. “Hey, come on, no, leave him be. Better show me where the burn is, buddy.”

“Yeah, show papi, he can draw on it!” Max supports while stuffing the offending cap down the back of his brother’s tee. Frowning at the ministrations, Raphael presents the hurt hand: “I helped Sonya with s’mores. It’s already mostly healed.”

The scarring is at the side of his palm and pinky, light and tender new tissue peeking from under a dinosaur band-aid. It looks like it might have hurt a lot, actually. Alec frowns as his thumb strokes over the wound with great care. “She better appreciate your help,” he says. He brings an index finger to his son’s skin and draws a familiar shape of _iratze_. Family tradition since Max’s first bumps and bruises, it makes both kids and Alec feel better. Alec would do so quietly, holding a crying child, unable to help in any other way while Magnus provided the actual cure. Max swears by it. “Did you show ayah?”

“He did,” Magnus assures, question caught. “Either way, they applied my salve immediately; it will vanish by evening. No worries.”

Alec’s eyebrows rise snidely. “What, pantomime routine all done?”

“I liked you more when you had no sense of humor,” Jace grimaces.

The dialog attracts starved newbies’ attention back from the buffet table being set in common area. Whatever consensus Magnus and Jace reached through their interpretive negotiations, they move in synch; Jace steals Raphael away, Max-growth and cap-hump and all, to exchange their secret complicated handshake, and Magnus slinks to Alec’s side, eyes playful with kind wrinkles at corners. From up-close Alec notices the line of rhinestones glued under his left eyebrow and wonders habitually where the man finds the time. Sure, they employ a nice werewolf lady to help around the house, since all must be done by hand to ensure healthy morals in future generations, but family is still a full-time commitment. Magnus has to carve free evenings out of nothing in their schedules just to create a quiet personal space for Alec’s hobby — reading in solitude. Yet, after a minor hiccup, makeup routines never went away.

“Catering, really?” The words are just loud enough for the intimate space between them. Magnus’s hand glides down Alec’s shoulder to cup his elbow, touch secure. He tilts his head, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, and answers: “You said to do a family-like thing, what’s more family-like than bringing lunch to one’s spouse?”

Since Alec knows both his parabatai and husband way too well, he suspects what’ll come next in their ill-conceived convoluted scheming, and doesn’t crave to be kissed for show or get a claim stated on or anything similar. Maybe it came off as such, but all he really wanted to demonstrate by calling Magnus over was this… wholesome thing they created together. And that his life is so full with it, there’s no space whatsoever for anything else.

To demonstrate that it's normal. That everything is going to be okay.

So he kisses Magnus first, in a way they practiced to perfection over the years: at the very corner of his mouth, equal parts on lips and on cheek, short, sweet, and to the point. Squeezes his fingers minutely, feeling the ring it was so exiting to wear all day yesterday. Then steps back as Magnus’s hooded eyes trace him.

Alec makes sure not to look towards Benjamin at all. He looks at Jace instead: the kid chimera is already separated into two autonomous children, whom ganged up anyway and are now eyeing their uncle for any loose weapons to pickpocket. Boredom is always an issue.

“Yeah, that’s enough,” he declares. “Let’s go eat now, since it’s imminent.”

“You are no fun,” Magnus says, but he looks happy.

***

Magnus knows everybody experiences immortality differently. For centuries to him it has being rather like a glass palace: glistening and pristine, out of reach for anyone whose fingers could tarnish the shine, it stood proud in its isolation until dust caked the panes, blocking all light and turning a once sun-filled orangery into a tomb. It changes now; it _is_ changed, his crystal cage shattered, and how happy he is not to be adorning its grimy insides as a stone statue. Immortality these days, for him, is an afterthought to so many things that come first.

Raphael, less a social butterfly compared to his brother, got tired of company pretty quickly and is hiding by Magnus’s side while munching on a cheese cube. The boy likes exploring the Institute’s nooks and corners, looking at books and runes and artifacts, but, picking up a habit from Alec perhaps, is only comfortable doing so alone, or at least when less people are around. And since it’s late May, a paradoxical dead season for demon activity, every room is packed with bored Shadowhunters and Downworlders heads deep in issues as bureaucratic as they are boring. Raphael proves a perfect distraction and/or entertainment, partially because some knew him since much younger age, partially because of the family background. And who would enjoy a bunch of strangers gawking idly every time they walk into a room? Max has it even worse with the added factor of his skin color and all. He doesn’t seem to care just yet, but Magnus still wants to hiss curses at each and every one of those knuckleheads. Raphael, though, would not appreciate that in the slightest (as previous experience has shown), and Max would be more upset that ayah got angry.

So he does the next best thing — provides unconditional support and quiet harbor. Raphael usually deals well with being somewhat different, but for now his social resources ran out and require replenishment. Magnus secretly enjoys every second of it, because for how much longer will his son consider him appropriate “hanging out” company? Surely, those are numbered days.

“Say, my little angel,” he asks, “are you tired at all? That camp of yours requires a lot of energy.”

The tender nickname is banned from Alexander’s lips, but Magnus still gets away with using it when they’re one-on-one with Raphael like this. His son hums without infliction and sort of flops to the side, against the sofa’s opposite armrest. His legs land across Magnus’s lap, almost knocking the cheese plate over. The canapé he’s been eating is now inside his mouth whole, only an end of the toothpick sticking out. Magnus bends over to pluck it away.

“You could’ve choked.” Honestly. Is he the only person in this family with any sense of self-preservation?  


Raphael just mumbles, not really meaning it: “Sorry.”

People rotate to and fro the buffet picking up plates and cutlery. Alec, the more famous face around, is stuck receiving thanks by it, untouched chicken salad in hand, and lightning-rods any business talkers away from Magnus. Still, Magnus is exhausted already where he is by smiling and nodding like a parading royalty back at everyone who waves at him in gratitude. He decides right then and there that Max gets his way far too often, considering he’s not involved in the proceedings at all anymore: he and Jace ran away together to duel with mozzarella sticks, it seems.

“I’m glad we came, honest,” Raphael says finally, his cheek making a quiet rustling noise against the upholstery. “I missed you, and papá, and adik. But I’ll be back at camp in time for the bonfire, right?”

The camp did him a load of good, just like every other youth in attendance, so similar in their differences. That is, of course, not in the slightest the reason for Raphael’s impatience. Magnus stifles a chuckle. Young love! Another cheese cube is presented to the boy as a consolation prize before the answer: “Of course, worry not. Though I can’t help but wonder: how many bonfires can one camp hold anyway?”

As the buffet empties some, Alexander’s finally able to escape; Raphael becomes livelier and more upright the closer he gets. Alec squats in front of the couch, eyes leveled with his son’s, and asks: “You liquefying there, buddy?” Raphael squirms like a smiling caterpillar, clearing a place for him to sit. “I’ll take it you’re fine, and I can get on this lunch brought specifically for me. At last.” To Magnus, he says: “Izzy called, by the way.”

Just like that, Raphael blissfully tunes them out with the built-in automatic adults-are-talking switch, all attention on his impaled Danablu.

“She screamed at me for getting injured and almost dying, even though I did no such thing. You create drama out of thin air.”

“Still got it,” Magnus simply shrugs.

The salad sounds cheerily crunchy from inside Alec’s closed mouth as his jaw methodically moves. Often times he eats like a soldier, not so much in a hurry as just to get it over with, eyes far away; some prying is required during family dinners to get Alexander to enjoy the food and the conversation flow fully. Today it’s the supply of cheeses distributed sparsely but masterfully by Magnus. The wooden toothpicks are grazed by Alec’s teeth as he un-skewers the cubes with them; Magnus can feel it through the other ends where his fingers hold the proposed canapés. Magnus watches his husband.

Alec is the silent reformer; the one with the vision, the plan, the dream. He dislikes change, but it’s a plus in his case. He’s aiming for the pre-planned brighter future and sees no obstacles, dragging everybody with him, silent, resilient, even if the rest of them are tired in despair. And when some old relic of dying times will try to tell Alexander no one can change the way things are, Alexander will point at all he has quietly built over the ruins, shiny and new and better. Magnus can’t wait for the day he’ll witness it. After all, he thinks, watching his ring so close to Alec’s lips as he accepts what’s fed to him, he made amazing progress already.

Magnus recalls the day it really started; Raphael turned eight, and it was warm early fall. They’ve just bought matching holographic hoodies, his gold, Raphael’s silver, to be worn at every opportunity. Alexander, in charge of Max, slept in after patrolling the night previous, so Magnus took their eldest out for breakfast. There was a woman in the apartment when they returned, getting tea served by sleepy robe-clad Alec.

“I didn’t know we had company,” Magnus remembers saying while assisting Raphael with laces, “we would’ve bought more bagels otherwise.” What he really meant was, of course, we have phones and some warning would be nice.

“I gathered support from Inner Mongolia to Transcarpathia, and now I’m in Americas. They told me to start with you,” the guest said.

Pillow print on cheek and jaw bluish with stubble, Alec looked at Magnus and Raphael lovingly before facing her and announcing in calm manner: “I’ll do it.”

The woman turned out to be Zhang Li, the family leader of an old Shadowhunter clan from Chengdu, the head of local Institute. Zhangs were known as enormously successful peacekeepers. They were also whispered to be as close-knitted with Downworlders as one could get. Zhang Li had a vampire for a step-mother, a werewolf for a husband and all sorts of things happening for her children and grandchildren. So far in her life she lived in peace with the Accords, and a situation compromising said peace escaped her. Until that tepid, mild fall.

“That man is my husband of thirty years. As I guarded peace, as I did anything Clave wished me to, he stood by my side. When I crawled home covered in ichor and blood he picked me up and tended to me; when my parabatai died he built me back up from the ground. Every demon I killed is half his kill. Each of my sacrifices is half his sacrifice. Every disaster averted, he faced with me.” Alexander’s fingers squeezed Magnus’s painfully, almost crashing them, as she finished: “Is that not a true bond? I am loyal to my people. They should respect what’s part of me.”

While faithfully supporting his wife the best he could, Zhang Li’s husband had seen and heard things the Clave deemed inappropriate for a werewolf’s eyes and ears. With Chengdu’s internal regional politics at play, Zhang Li could choose either her position or her family. A too familiar ultimatum for many Shadowhunters, and an unfair one: with the workings of their world, the position usually constituted one’s whole being.

“And my daughter-in-law they call over, they say, filth! Heal our soldiers and open our portals! They say, we pay you! But they do not pay her to take their hate. It’s shameful.”

She was building a case to change the Law.

Skepticism surrounded Magnus like a heavy blanket. Oh, he did everything they asked of him: held artifacts, gave speeches, testified, posed, mingled. But he did it with this pre-felt dull hurt of disappointment, not his own but — Alec’s. The one Alec would inevitably feel after everything would fall through.

Yet nothing did. Alexander, much like a mule, carried it all to its victorious end. He ran around with the rest of Zhang’s team, torn and drowned in paperwork, disappeared from home for days just to return and kidnap Magnus away for the cause when needed. Their apartment’s first floor became a war room slash motel hybrid and a step couldn’t have been taken without getting sucked into a portal. Max’s mood jumped like crazy from agitated and crying to agitated and squealing with laughter. Raphael sheltered himself in his reading nook. Magnus never wanted to see anyone ever again. He stayed home on _the_ day, sending Catarina instead to speak and act on warlocks’ behalf.

Their home was finally blissfully empty; worn out Max and Raphael slept in a chair and Mewrkel, who came back when strangers left, watched over them. Magnus didn’t worry as he sat still, letting the wind chimes over their kitchen sink tune it all away. Eventually, Alec returned. The couch screeched when his weight got thrown atop it carelessly. His words sounded muffled by cushions: “We’re getting married. In gold and everything.”

It was announced, not asked. In different circumstances Magnus could have had a problem with that, but he felt like this he owned to Alec, partially because of the premature defeatist attitude. He did not enjoy fighting, he wasn’t a warrior. But Alexander made him one, companion in arms to his conquering general, and Alexander was always a man of vows.

He told Alec he was very proud of him and then, even though it wasn’t required, he said yes.

Raised to believe the rules were of good and obeying them in turn made a person good, Alexander in the end discovered the intricate treachery of this worldview. Seen it for what it was: a comfortable screen provided for arrogant to hide behind from world’s truths, hoarding their privilege and power. But instead of mellowing, changing his perception of “good”, he changed the rules to fit his original ideals.

It has been four years since the Zhang Amendment went into full affect, and Magnus is still proud every day.

An excited chatter can be heard over lunch noises flooding the Institute, and it’s getting closer. The salad is done for but the cheese plate still bares three sad brie slices and Magnus has nowhere to discard the dish, so he’s stuck with it. Alec is looking for the noise source, mouth occupied by his parental duty — finishing a sheep milk cheese with unpronounceable name Raphael slobbered up and rejected.

The voice that dominates the dialogue is cheery and is recognized soon enough by Magnus as Clary’s. From afar Max sees his aunt and starts running. He aims for the couch though, not straight at the woman, because both his hands are full of mozzarella. Magnus predicts it’s going to adorn his own very jacket in a bit. Still, a victory is to be made in this. Mozzarella Max does not like, but brie? There’s some potential for persuasion.

“M&Ms!” Clary exclaims, happy, when bookshelves let her see their couch pile. “My little demon! And Raphael! Didn’t notice you at first in between all the warlocks. Aren’t you at camp, soldier? I missed you all so much. But why’s no one working? It doesn’t matter, we just came from patrol, there’s nothing happening, it’s boring. Nymphs hit on Trevor in Flushing Meadows!”

Black-clad and willowy, she’s just as bouncy and lively as ever; the weird blooming seaweed braided into her intricate hairdo presumably by aforementioned nymphs spreads this light breezy smell, like salt and mint, when she bends to hug Magnus. He reaches up to touch a tiny white petal as he kisses her cheek. Salacia, a treasured flower grown amongst nymph’s hair, never dries down or withers, keeping its fresh aroma forever. Those cost an arm and a leg _and_ a favor on the market. Some nymph must’ve really taken a liking to Clary for whatever reason.

“Biscuit,” Magnus smiles, hurrying to wipe Max’s hands clean, “here’s a plate with three brie slices and one giant blueberry, make the first disappear into the second.”

“Wow, there’s food!”

“Absolutely, help yourself.”

“Oh, I’m not hungry. But I want to feed Trevor, he’s a growing boy!”

“I’m a growing boy, too!” Max happily imitates adult talk, reattached now to his aunt’s leg. “Maybe we can be friends!”

Judging by the way he melts into Alexander’s side, Raphael is not that sold on the whole Trevor concept. But Clary ignores it, dragging the guy in front of the couch. He’s a lovely boy, stocky and chubby, obviously very strong, with acne-covered kind face and a neat haircut. He’s as blond as a fluffy dandelion, eyebrows and lashes almost completely white, which gives him an innocent look.

“Hello, High Warlock Bane-Lightwood, it’s an ho-” he starts, just for his mentor to bulldozer right over him: “This is Trevor, Magnus, isn’t he lovely?! I love him so much, he’s the cutest! He can throw knives like no one’s business, and he can lift a ton, I’m not even kidding, and I taught him that one chokehold. Trevor, show Magnus how you do the chokehold.”

Trevor doesn’t mind at all, apparently, as he eagerly assumes a ready stance, even if at a loss about who his opponent would be. Clary looks around.

“Jace! Put the mozzarella down and let Trevor choke you.”

“The who what now,” Jace manages, before he’s overtaken by a much more massive Shadowhunter, and cheese goes flying everywhere (to Max’s squealing delight). Clary somehow managed to get rid of two brie slices already, and the last one she puts straight into Trevor’s mouth since his hands are occupied: “Good job! Nice job!”

“Yes, very nice. Impressive,” Magnus agrees politely since he feels compelled to say… something. “Isn’t it, Raphael?”

It’s obvious Trevor is still up for debate to the boy, but, regardless, the heroes must be worshipped: “Aunt Clary, can you teach me how to do that?”

“You bet,” she answers. “Okay, Trevor, let. Go eat before all food is gone.” Jace, face a lovely beetroot hue, sputters and tries to fix his hair, glaring at her, but Clary couldn’t care less. “What are you doing here, really? Super happy to see you, but still.”

“The mean intern is being… friendly with Alec, is all,” Magnus explains to an immediate reaction of:

“You can never ever have Trevor back!”

Alec sighs. He’s twirling his last fork-speared salad leaf, the famous socially aggrieved face in full effect. “Benjamin’s a nice young Shadowhunter, quick on his feet, good with the spear. But-”

“Blah-blah, I get it,” Clary interrupts again. “He’s from one of the old families, right? I smell the ‘fall for the first remotely eligible male after all the repression and isolation’-itis. Just a crush, no harm, no fowl.”

That’s what Magnus secretly thought, but didn’t want to bring up and mention in fear of stirring unpleasant memories. He’s touched by Alexander’s concern for his young colleague’s heart, and is sure the boy will grow up to be very happy and fulfilled. Perhaps even laugh at the situation one day. The growing pains of youth sometimes settle into a solid foundation to build up from, or fade into the prettiest scars. Alec’s empathy and compassion towards all, not just Benjamin, prove that to some extent.

“You think a night at my club would cure the blues? Expand horizons?” Magnus suggests. “The interns would be welcome, as well as the regular staff, for a slight supervision if nothing else. Though you all work hard and deserve a break.”

“A night on the town would help a lot, if not entirely, methinks. And if this, too, fails, then you’ll have to have that tough talk you’ve been trying to avoid.” Clary’s finger stabs viciously towards Alec, who’s letting Raphael study and pick at his runes. The man nods, clearly unhappy by the perspective, but resigned. “Come now, I’ll let you play with Trevor if you’re good.” Clary, satisfied, gestures at both her nephews to follow and, properly escorted now, stomps away.

“Buy this woman a puppy, for Lilith’s sake,” Magnus begs Jace.

***

“I though there were guts! Or buckets of blood! Maybe even a bone protruding or two! Demon poison, a missing limb, something! And you’re telling me there was nothing?”

“What do you want me to say, ‘I’m sorry I’m okay’? I didn’t know Magnus would imply things like that.”

“Oh, you’re not sorry. But you will be!” Lily screams. “And that husband of yours is just! Urgh!” There’s a growl and she promptly hangs up.

Alec sighs, but before he can put the phone away it gently buzzes. It’s Maia.

_“Tell Magnus the drinks are on me next time <3”_

Alec sighs again.

Surprising no one (except maybe himself), Max went through all stages of energy peak and eventually crashed. Alec has him on the tufted couch catty-corner to his desk under a blanket Magnus conjured. Magnus also had to sacrifice one of his patented charged necklaces: Max, when sleepy, has a hard time parting with his father’s magical energy print, all the ley lines beneath Institute be damned. Curiously, the buzz of Shadowhunter activity all around bothers him not at all. An innocent warlock, asleep and assured of his safety inside these walls: it appears that things _do_ change.

The day shift is coming to a close; Magnus departed hours ago, taking Raphael along. Alec was sad to be separated from his son again so soon, but the boy was clearly torn between same exact feelings and excitement at the prospect of returning to camp, so Alec let him go with little fuss. After all, he has Max, who is an adorable and slightly bizarre sleeper, to photograph.

This time he managed to drift off with one leg up on the couch’s back. Alec smiles as he comes closer. He has to bend down to pry Max’s blue fingers away from where they curled around his horn. The movement is so familiar. His memory, once again, turns to Max’s infancy. 

What followed that memorable day when the cry fest stopped was a month of sleeping in shifts so that their baby wouldn’t suffer alone. Because (even though Magnus quickly came up with a soothing salve) after a short break the horns continued to hurt on their way out. Alec always gently blew on the puffy inflamed skin around them: nearly translucent at the dark base, they, with a potential to curve in the future, were yet just small nubs, blood still coursing through the tissue. If one was rubbed, Max’s whole small body spasmed uncontrollably, attempting to curl in on itself, as if the sensation went straight to his brain. And when the growth stunted somewhat, allowing the boy to sleep through the night again, Alec often found himself creeping into the nursery. Compulsory desire to check on his son took root from the deep fear of “sleeping like the dead” becoming more than a metaphor. Magnus mocked him gently for it, but he was one to talk: Alec knew for a fact he enchanted the crib with a monitoring spell of some kind.

Nowadays everything flipped, and it’s a chore to keep Max from scratching at the horn bases with constant reprimands. No one would mind, except it clearly hurts the young warlock by irritating his skin. Magnus even tried a restrictive charm at one point, to keep the boy’s fingers away from his forehead, but Max just took a page from wild nature’s book and scratched his horns directly against the wall in ayah’s beauty room. The custom wallpaper was ruined. Magnus philosophically declared it karmic justice.

It is actually almost time to wake Max up and, in a bout of foresighted preventive genius, Alec decides to battle the imminent crankiness with some coco. It’s an easy drink to pass as a treat while adding as little sugar as possible.

Too soon after dinner to provide snacks, the kitchen stands empty. All equipment is in its usual places, just as it was when Alec still lived here. He’s dissolving some cocoa powder in a small amount of milk, attention half on the saucepan where more is heating up, when someone enters behind him.

It’s Benjamin.

“The kid’s not going to appreciate the rude awakening, and I’m not above bribes,” Alec says calmly and, after a careful consideration, suggests: “Would you like some, too?”

He hopes Benjamin will understand the meaning of the gesture. It may be a little patronizing, but, what the hell. Patronizing is exactly what he’s supposed to be doing here. Taking responsibility. He watched his mentee after lunch: the young man seemed happy as all others due to the free food, and kept at it without fail, be it a pulled up front or the truth. Alec feels for him, he really does. But from what is, he hopes, an appropriate distance.

There’s a fleeting silence, and then Ben answers cheerily:

“Sure thing, boss! You need any help?”

“No. Sit down, it’s going to be ready in a minute.”

Ben sits with hands folded on the table, pupil-like. It reminds Alec of his sons waiting for him to sort out their breakfast in the mornings.

Maybe they navigated this thing... clumsily, but well. As a team. Because they do make a decent team. There's a lot to teach, and Ben is a good study. The concept of being a role model is not foreign to Alec anymore, and he really hopes he can become one for another person, new person, too. A real mentor to turn to, not tinted through pink lenses. He adds a third cup to the saucepan and measures out more powder for mixing in.

Suddenly, there’s a burst of sound through the door — Trevor this time, face shining with excitement at the sight of Ben:

“There you are! I’ve been looking all o-” Then he notices Alec and kind of deflates. “Oh. Sorry, Mr. L. B.”

“Don’t be. Come in, sit down. I’ve got a mission for you two.”

They perk up, surprised, and Alec reaches up to the highest shelf before producing a half-full bag of marshmallows, clipped shut with a plastic clothing pin.

“The deal with warlock children is, they are literally magical,” he starts. “And when you say, ‘there are no marshmallows left’, they just click their fingers to find some. So don’t make me lie to my kid. You have ten minutes to finish these.”

Trevor catches the crinkly bag without effort as Ben says:

“You’re spoiling us with all the treats, boss.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it. We’ll organize a loaded march this weekend.” Alec pours a cup of coco for Max and adds a cinnamon stick to distract from insufficient sugar levels. He’s only a little miffed at the necessity of sacrificing his own portion to Trevor. “Okay, it’s ready. You can find the cups yourselves. Remember, ten minutes.”

Trevor jumps up immediately, just like during any time-sensitive training exercise, causing Ben to roll his eyes at the enthusiasm. 

“Thanks, Mr. Lightwood-Bane,” the latter drawls, nailing that “oh, good, there’s homework” tone. “By the Angel, Trevor, are you talking to that marshmallow before eating it?”

He will, no doubt, find things like that endearing one day. He will understand that camaraderie, support, friendship, love, even family — all these are often unions of the ingredients most unlikely to meet, found in places one would never consider looking in.

Alec would know.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my story!
> 
>  
> 
> [ **Fanart blog.** ](http://bravekate.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: English is not my first language.
> 
> XOXO


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